


When the World's Burned

by dugindeep (hotsauce)



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, M/M, The Walking Dead AU, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Walking Dead AU. Jared's been a loner for the last three years, meaning he has difficulties when he's stumbled upon a place that's willing to keep him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the World's Burned

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the episode [Live Bait](http://www.ask.com/wiki/Live_Bait_%28The_Walking_Dead%29?qsrc=3044), but not really based on the story. Contains no spoilers of TWD, and no need to know the show either; just an apocalyptic universe with zombies as a threat. Huge thanks to [zubeneschamali](http://zubeneschamali.livejournal.com/) for the beta ♥

The last camp was filthy. Scum and grime dirtier than the fertilizer plant Jared had passed half a year back. This new one is clean, but small. Nothing like the bordered-in community back in Daleford.

It used to be that you judged time by the camps you saw along the way. Sometimes you just judge the camps, period.

This new one is just a bungalow with a mother-in-law house out back and plenty of trees for shade. It operates just the same as any other camp, no matter how small. A handful of mismatched survivors trying to get along with what little they have.

Small means a lot of things in this world now. It means quick, efficient getaways. tinier places to hide, and minimal food needs. It also means reduced manpower and gunpower, and that Jared is the most trained hand in this new group, putting him in charge of most everything.

He hates it.

Being a loner is … well, lonely, but it’s also a self-determined kind of life. Jared’s been mostly on his own since The Turn—lived most his time before it in his own quiet, too—and he’s been happy more often than not with the arrangements.

Sometimes he’ll stop at a camp, judge the friendliness of the group, and rest up as much as he can. It’s a sliding scale of how long he stays versus the welcoming committee, so sometimes all he gets is a can of Hormel chili and a _see ya later_ , and other times he sleeps a few nights nights, fills his belly, and hits the ground at dawn.

This camp, this new camp with its reduced resources and its inability to protect itself sans one self-proclaimed cowboy and an older gentleman who’s gruff enough for the bunch, should have been in Jared’s rear view weeks ago. But this camp also has an eleven-year-old boy with wavy brown hair, bright green eyes, and an incredibly patient father.

 

**

 

In the woods, Jared keeps his rifle aimed clear ahead of him and eyes open for dinner or the dead. It’s unearthly quiet, not a cricket chirping or a bird flapping its wings. He pivots to the left with slow steps forward. The only noises out here are his soft, steady breathing and the gentle crush of leaves beneath his utility boots.

This right here, frozen in the forest without another thing around him, is a strangely comforting feeling. It’s a small comfort since everything went to Hell. He doesn’t have to think about people straggling behind him or who’s waiting for him back at camp.

Being tied to a group has its advantages—company and defenses being the main ones. But Jared’s gotten along fine thus far, and any other company he’s encountered has been far from welcoming. Not to say he was the warmest upon entering other camps, but he knows humans mean more trouble now than back when humanity was a real thing.

He’s not fully trusting of those he sits to dinner with, and he’s not surprised if and when they side eye him as well.

 

**

 

It’s been five weeks at this camp, the longest Jared’s stayed anywhere outside of Daleford. He’s gone more often than not, feeding his need for space and the hunt, but returns all the same. Ignores why and keeps quiet when the little boy with his father’s green eyes asks why he keeps coming and going.

It’s not a pretty world anymore – if it ever was to begin with – and Jared recognizes that every walker’s out there for themselves, and humans need to adapt to the threat. He’s not about to play sitting duck and wait for something to come at him, so he’s always at the ready, moving forward, checking the next possibility.

Except he also keeps coming back to camp with everything he finds. Sometimes it’s overgrown berries that he tests in the forest, never wanting to bring back a guaranteed killer. Other times he manages to wrangle a live animal into what now stands as a four-star meal.

It’s the latter that he’s dragging back to camp this time—an eight-pointer he took down with the Barnett crossbow he snagged on his way out of Daleford.

He feels mostly proud, but drops the act to something more embarrassed when he sees Jensen’s long stare then small shake of the head when Jared gets closer to the group tending to the garden.

“Don’t pretend you’re not proud,” Jensen says as he digs his shovel into the hard earth. It hasn’t rained in a couple weeks, but Jensen still insists on splitting the plants to encourage growth.

Jared shrugs as he passes. “I’m not pretending.” He heads towards Boots—the long-haired, short-legged, fire-filled ex-amateur rodeo star—to get some help in dressing the buck. Still, he steals a few glances back at Jensen, who’s digging down deep and messing up his already dingy grey tee.

“Don’t let Andy see it,” Jensen calls out a few moments later.

Jared looks back just as Boots comes over to lift up the back end of the animal.

“He still hasn’t forgiven you for killing Thumper.”

“That was like Christmas dinner.”

Jensen aims his shovel towards Jared. “And what’s this?”

“New Year’s Eve.” He smiles through the struggle of pitching the buck up higher so he, Boots, and Williams can take it to the garage where it’ll get properly pulled apart. “Better get the champagne ready.”

 

**

 

Andy sits next to Jared, bows his head, folds his hands, and prays to a God that Jared thinks skipped town three years, eight months, and ten days ago.

Not that he’s counting.

The young boy picks his head up to his father seated right across from them, awaits the approving nod, then digs his fork deep into the pile of meat on his plate.

“It’s almost like Thanksgiving,” Andy raves as he dunks a hunk of meat into the berry sauce Miss Loretta made work out of the potpourri of things Jared had brought from the forest back two days ago. He then gets to shoveling food into his mouth so fast he eventually coughs on it all.

Jared pats the boy’s back then rubs large circles. “Gotta take it slow, buddy. Savor the flavor, and all that.”

Jensen smirks at them in between bites, only coming forward to keep Andy from drinking too much water. The reserves are running low, and already Jared’s thinking about how to make that work … or if he should head out once it’s empty.

“When did you learn how to hunt?” Andy asks, bright eyes excited for an answer.

Jared swallows roughly, thinks over the last two years, thinks back even longer. Hunting had never been sport for him. It became a necessity.

Before Jared manifests an answer, Andy asks, “Can you teach me?”

This one comes easy: “I think that’s a question for your pops.”

“Can I learn with Jared?” he quickly asks Jensen.

“With Jared?” Jensen asks slowly. He shakes his head and sneaks a worried look at Jared. “We’ll have to see about that.”

“’Cause you don’t like Jared,” he grumbles back.

Jensen immediately pulls out the dreaded “Andrew Daniel Ackles,” shaming the kid into silence.

Jared tells himself the quick spin of his stomach is from the high-end food. Chowing down on Chef Boyardee and boiled leaves can damage a stomach to the point that it no longer recognizes real nutrition.

That’s all that makes sense in Jared’s compartmentalized braind.

 

**

 

Hours later, Jared takes guard atop the garage. It’s a comfort to pledge protection to this camp, gives him focus and purpose. And a reason to keep distance.

Also gives him a chance to see the wide expanse of stars on black. It’s calming and reminds him of the quiet nights he had in between the chaos of that first year. He’d seen things worse than horror films, and eventually had to do those things himself.

He doesn’t quite like himself in this new world, where success is pounding a walker’s head in, and getting away with a first aid kit and a pack of Fiber One bars. He wouldn’t blame Jensen for not liking him much either.

Off to the west, Jared thinks there’s a gathering of lights, low and subdued. It could be a new camp, a better set-up than here with more people to pull their weight, more supplies, something to get him going on a further trip. Maybe it’s a day’s walk—or three—but it’s worth a look.

Behind him, at the ladder he’d climbed up here, something drags and Jared is up on flat feet and angling his body into the slant of the roof. He aims his gun at the head popping up then disappearing with a loud curse.

“I come in peace,” Jensen says, likely attempting to joke yet the shake in his words give him away.

Jared sighs and holsters his gun. “And you come too quietly.”

Jensen knocks on the edge of the roof. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Smartass,” he mumbles even as he smiles a little. “Permission granted.”

“You’re tryin’ to kill me?” Jensen says with a smirk. “I’m going to start thinking it’s personal.”

“If only,” he replies, dryly. He’s still annoyed by the intrusion—not just in his thoughts, but by the fact that he could’ve shot Jensen’s head off, and then there’d be a whole new world of pain. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he reprimands, covering up any worry rising to the surface.

“Couldn’t sleep. And I found this.” Jensen shows off a bottle of bubbly. Jared’s not sure how fancy it is or isn’t, but its appearance says a lot.

Jared lifts an eyebrow. “Just found it?”

“Okay, I was hoarding it.” Jensen shrugs then settles down beside Jared. He even has two champagne flutes, and Jared feels nervous for a completely different reason. “Figured I’d keep it for a special occasion—good or terribly bad.”

He accepts a flute and holds it steady as Jensen pours. “Which is this?”

Jensen pauses mid-pour to look right at Jared. “You said it’s New Year’s Eve.” Jared lifts a curious eyebrow and Jensen finishes pouring as he says, “You’ll have to forgive Andrew. For what he said at dinner.”

“You mean when he said you hated me?” Jensen flinches but Jared doesn’t always care for being vague.

“I don’t,” Jensen insists. “Kind of the opposite.”

Jared watches the liquid fill the glass again, bubbles popping at the surface. His nerves are popping, too, and he’s not sure how to traverse this. “You like romance, huh? This feels like some kind of romance.”

“I like memories. They’re all we’ve got now.”

“You’ve got Andy.”

“For as long as we’re safe.” As Jensen drinks, Jared does, too, to fill the silence. “It’s demented to think that way, I know. But, I also know that this isn’t a way to live, not forever.”

Jared shrugs and says, “Pretty well seems like the only way,” before he can take it back.

Jensen nods in some sort of agreement, though his tense jaw says otherwise.

“At least for me, you know, on my own.”

“You’re not on your own,” Jensen softly argues. “You’re here, with the rest of us.”

Jared can’t answer that one without disappointing the both of them, so he sets his sights to the abandoned field to the west.

The quiet takes over again, and Jared is torn between dying to talk to Jensen and needing to keep an eye out. Jensen doesn’t seem to mind and stays still until they’re both finished with their glasses. He offers Jared a second pour, but Jared waves it off in favor of staying steady on his toes.

“You know,” Jensen says slowly. “Things could be at least a little different in this world.”

“How so?”

“You could stop pretending that you’re not really here.” He briefly smiles then looks nervous again. “You could just be here, with us.”

Before Jared can open his mouth to respond, Jensen’s leaned over and kissed him. It’s a plain yet steady pressure of his plush lips to Jared’s, but he’s there all the same. Until he slides back with a short nod and quiet _g’night_ , and leaves.

 

**

 

Walkers still won’t leave well enough alone, and Jared finds an abandoned tent with human remains streaking the leaves around it. Inside, there’s a jackpot of factory sealed snacks and, surprisingly, vitamins.

Unsurprisingly, there’s a walker coming out of the mess of twisted bark just past the tent, as if Jared’s sparked its mouse trap.

Jared backs up and rams the butt of his riffle into its head, avoiding gunfire and thus more walkers.

The skull dents on the fully bald man, and it’s almost an improvement, Jared thinks. He smiles cruelly when he smacks it again and again and again until it drops to the ground in a lifeless heap.

He huffs through the exertion and rubs one hand over his forehead to clear hair away. There’s the distant feel of warm, wet blood on his hands, arms, and now his face, but he’d long ago accepted it as part of the job, so to speak.

A twig cracks and he spins with the rifle’s scope now crossing at a forehead before the rifle is knocked from his hands. He tackles what he now recognizes as human to the ground, hunter instincts kicking in before he manages to make out the voice calling his name.

He’s got Jensen’s cheek pressed into the leaves with an arm pulled up his back. Slowly, Jared lets him go, helps him up, and dusts him off. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles.

“It’s okay,” Jensen says, adding, “I think.”

He’s sorry for it, but still narrows his eyes and reprimands him. “Shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. Not in this world.”

“I’ve been calling your name.” Just then, Williams’ deep voice sails through the forest, shouting for them both. “We all have been. We’re losing sunlight and ought to head back.” Jensen runs a hand down his jacket then stares at streaks of red over his fingers. “Are you bleeding?”

Jared gets his rifle off the ground and rolls his shoulders, muscles pulled tight with guilt and discomfort. “No, it was that guy,” he motions at the dead-dead-dead walker.

Jensen winces at the state of its head. “Was that really necessary?”

“Better it than you or me.” Jared flicks dirt off the rifle’s trigger and from the barrel with a frown. “You just had to knock my gun out?”

“You were aiming it at my head,” Jensen defends. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Yeah,” Jared says, remembering exactly what he’s done when faced with the barrel of a gun.

He knows he’ll never say those words aloud.

 

**

 

For weeks, Jared stares out on the darkness and narrows his eyes at the soft glow at the edge of the horizon.

He thinks about leaving, even takes a few quick daytrips through the forest to judge terrain and safety from walkers. None inhibit him for the first few miles, so he spends his night watches mentally paving the rest of the way.

Even when his test trips only take a few hours of daylight, people are restless upon his return. Asking on his whereabouts, looking for answers more detailed than, “Checking the neighborhood.”

Jensen and Andy, in particular, watch him more closely upon each return and Jared’s not sure if he’s happy for that. It’s bound to create more trouble to think about it.

 

**

 

Misha meets Jared in the middle of the night to cover the next watch. Jared thinks it’s a bit early, but Misha’s always up long before the sun is.

They exchange quiet thanks in passing. Before Jared lowers himself on the ladder, he calls out for Misha. “What were you … you know, before The Turn?”

Misha lets out a sly look. “A congressman.”

“No shit?” Jared laughs, and begins to think that’s how the man’s been so diplomatic with the group when any tempers flare. “When’d you learn to shoot?”

“In my second term. I had a stalker and thought it best to protect myself.”

“Did it work?”

“It does now.” They share a sympathetic nod then Misha asks, “What about you?”

“Computers.”

“You’re a long way from home, boy.”

Jared chuckles, feeling awkward and amused all the same. “Don’t I know it.”

Misha motions his firearm towards the bungalow, where Jared can see a light’s gone on. “Looks like Jensen’s up to make breakfast.” After a beat, “If you wanted to eat or help or something like that.”

He rolls his eyes; there’s no reason for anyone to snoop into his life; another downfall to being in a group.

Still, he walks up to the house, gives Jensen a hand at breakfast, and feels a surprising calm take over the room.

He thinks about his brief talk with Misha and repeats his curiosity. “What were you?” Jared asks, “Before?”

Jensen’s frying bacon, thanks to Jared’s recent kill, over a makeshift fire in the stove. He's hunched down but still full of beautiful angles that Jared admires from the other side of the kitchen. Ever since Jensen kissed him, Jared can’t get the man’s mouth of out of his head, along with all the other parts he could touch if only they had the chance.

“Gym teacher,” Jensen replies as he stands, bringing the pan to the stovetop. “High school, and I also coached track.”

Jared leans against the counter and smirks. “No wonder you’re in such good shape.”

He laughs and lifts his shirt, patting at the soft skin of his stomach. “Yeah, such great shape here.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Jared replies kindly, even wiggles an eyebrow.

Jensen laughs again then gets distracted by the window, or rather, what’s beyond it. “Jesus, he’s up early.”

Jared joins him at the window and sees Boots tossing a football with Andy. The sun’s barely breaking the trees off in the east, and there’s a yellow hue to the whole scene, something more traditional of a sweet memory. “Probably because you weren’t there.”

“I meant Boots,” Jensen jokes. “I’m surprised you’re still up, too.”

Jared glances at Jensen and considers getting back to bed, or rather his couch. “Everyone else will be up soon. Wouldn’t get much rest.”

“You can head up to the ranch, use our space.”

There’s something easy and organic about Jensen that Jared refuses to concede to just yet, but he’s certain it’s coming. There’s a quick punch of tension as Jensen looks at him, remains quiet, and searches Jared’s eyes.

He’d give in right now, if only he wasn’t already thinking about the next animal they can make into a meal and whether he’ll try heading southeast or due west to hunt.

Further off in his mind is that larger camp and the possibilities for better amenities. Always got to move forward.

“Thanks, but I think I’m okay.”

 

**

 

Twice, Jared attempts to trek his way to where he spotted those lights, and both times, he’s walked right into a walker nest and had to backtrack.

During the first getaway, he comes upon a convenience store with plenty of prepackaged Hostess still on the rack along with a shelf full of powdered drinks. He’s a full day from the camp now and has been gone for at least double that, yet decides to cut this trip short and help out those who’ve helped him most recently.

He returns to camp with plastic bags hanging at his wrists, cutting off all circulation, and bringing his treasure with him.

Miss Loretta and Andy, and even the crotchey Williams, are happy to see his haul. Boots and Misha seem less impressed even while taking the Ho-Ho’s and donuts with them.

Jensen watches Jared when he isn’t listening to Andy sputter on about how he hasn’t had cake since his seventh birthday, when mom baked double chocolate.

Jared’s swiftly reminded that Jensen was married in the _before_. He had a family with Andy and a model-like redhead that neither of them speak of. Jared’s seen the pictures in Andy’s room, but has no other image to put with her besides another roadblock between he and Jensen.

Still, he smiles at Jensen and tosses a few packaged snacks at him. “Sorry they were out of granola.”

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Jensen says quietly, tightly.

Jared stares in return, pinned down by Jensen’s own straight look and the way Jensen seems to be really bothered by it. Jared’s frozen in place and wondering why in the world Jensen would care about such things.

Or maybe Jensen didn’t want him to come back.

“Didn’t think I was either,” Jared shrugs, “but shit happens.”

“You could’ve told us you were leaving.” Jensen runs a hand over Andy’s head, even as the boy’s chattering on with Gabe, attempting to trade his Ring Dings for Snowballs. “He was pretty spooked when you weren’t here.”

Now, Jared can’t stop watching Andy, with his bright smile and even brighter eyes, so easily excitable and suddenly aiming his sweet face to Jared. “Now we can have dessert all day, every day.”

With a surprised laugh, Jared stoops down to Andy. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Your dad would kill us both. Probably me first.”

“Yeah, probably,” Andy agrees then stuffs a whole snowball into his mouth. Around the big chewing, he says, “He wanted to this morning.”

“Andrew, I swear,” Jensen huffs. He turns Andy away, glares for a few seconds at Jared, then shakes his head.

It hurts, but not as bad as the second time he returns from an aborted exit.

There’s a lot less fanfare. He’s unsure whether that’s because they’ve grown tired of his escapes in the night only to return days later, or because he’s empty handed. As he’d skidded down a hill, rolled over himself a few times, he’d lost grip of his sack of supplies—canteen, Hostess snacks, and boxes of ammo—and there was no way in hell he’d skate between all the walkers on his tail to get to it.

It’s tense at dinner, no one saying a word, especially not to Jared. A few soft whispers fly at the other end of the table, but Andy silently eats next to Jensen, who also refuses to speak.

Jensen brings his eyes up often enough to let his glare say what he’s feeling.

Jared’s clueless as to why he’s in so much trouble, yet he knows well enough to make something up to the group. After dinner, he sidles up to Jensen at the sink and dries every dish that gets dipped in the wash and rinse buckets.

As the house quiets down and the others head off in other directions to carry on the night, Jared takes his chance to apologize. Albeit pathetically.

“I’m sorry, for whatever it is I did. Or didn’t do.”

Jensen snorts and continues to wash dishes and set them on the counter in front of Jared.

“I was never really good at words,” Jared confesses. “Even before everything.” Jensen remains quiet, though stewing, and Jared sighs. “I haven’t had to make excuses for anything in the last four years. This is a whole ‘nother world. The same rules don’t exist.”

A dish clatters into the rinse bucket as Jensen turns to Jared. “And what rules are those?”

“The ones where I have to be excused from the table and get permission when I leave.”

“You don’t need permission.”

“I know,” Jared replies bitterly. “That’s my point.”

Jensen snorts and clicks his tongue as he steps closer. He doesn’t look any higher than Jared’s jaw, yet the proximity of him, the heat and anger billowing off, sets off Jared’s alarms.

Jared briefly thinks about grabbing Jensen and kissing the daylights out of him, bending him over the sink and taking what he’s wanted since he first stepped foot on their land. He even thinks about the next morning with sunlight filtering through windows and making Jensen’s hair shine white blond.

It’s all wiped away with Jensen’s icy tone in Jared’s ear. “Next time you go, just stay gone.”

Jared doesn’t waste a minute on feelings.

He packs and flees.

 

**

 

He survives for quite a few days on his own, at least a week, he thinks. He’d run into a few small nests that he was able to avoid or end, but hasn’t yet made those lights. Existing is all he’s been up to, staying upright is pretty much all he focuses on in between fishing, sleeping, and snacking on the last few Hostess treats he’d taken with him.

But just beyond the creek, but far before the crest of the nearby hills, Jared falls. He’s not in pursuit of a kill, or bait for a walker. He just misjudges the sturdiness of a branch slanted over some rocks, slips sideways, and bangs his shin, arm, and head on various things littering the forest floor.

When he leans to the left, his leg, arm, and head all throb together. When he leans right, he gets blood in his eyes, stinging and flooding his eyesight. He can’t get up to his feet and has little strength in his left arm, meaning that on the whole, he’s hopeless.

He crawls back to the creek and tries rinsing his wounds out. His left arm is useless, just dead weight that flames with pain whenever he moves it, and his jeans are cut through to a gash so deep he thinks he sees bone. He washes dingy creek water over his leg, biting at the collar of his jacket to keep from crying out loud enough to call a walker’s attention. Still, more blood drowns the bone and now he’s lightheaded and has to lay back.

Jared had always considered the benefit of being a loner was to die without expectation. When on his own, no one is there waiting on him to live. He knows how low the probability has gotten after four years, so whenever it’s bound to happen, it just will.

The one thorn in his side right now is turning. He’d always told himself if he saw death heading his way, he’d take a bullet in the head to stop all matter of it.

Now’s the time.

He pulls his gun out, sets it to his forehead, but his damn finger won’t pull.

Something flashes behind his eyes and now they’re flooding for completely different reasons … Andy and Jensen digging at plants and aerating soil, Miss Loretta cooking biscuits and singing Motown through every batch, Misha’s origami hanging from the dining room ceiling like unlit chandeliers, even Boots singing over the campfire on cooler nights.

Then it’s all just a random smattering of Jensen and Andy, Andy and Jared, Jensen and Jared, Andy, Jensen, Andy, Jensen, Jensen …

He drops his gun in the brush, drums up as much energy as possible, and pushes himself up to his good leg. He’s hobbling forward, but he’s moving all the same. Just thirty feet up and he realizes his sack is back where he’d fallen and his gun is still on the ground. It’s felt like ages since he fell and he’s not sure he can manage the time or power to retrieve it all then get back to moving.

He stumbles back for his supplies and yanks the sack’s straps across his chest, avoiding his left arm. Then he gets back on course, which isn’t all the way back to the house. He knows without a doubt he’d never make it in one piece, now a bleeding, crawling walker buffet.

Half a mile up, there’s a small clearing he remembers finding some of the good berries at, and he makes it just before his vision recedes and his good leg loses all usefulness. While on the ground, he fusses with his bag, pulls out his flaregun, and fires straight in the air.

The burst of light and fire nearly blind him in the impending darkness, but it signals his last hope.

 

**

 

Boots and Williams find him in the new sun, and Jared can't express his glee. He is able to cry out when they try to wrap his leg, gauze and padding pressing into the wound and bringing fresh blood to the surface.

“You’re no Florence Nightingale,” he grunts out while trying to keep his breathing steady so he doesn’t blackout again.

“And you’re no Bear Grylls,” Williams huffs back.

“Ain’t drinking urine.”

Boots smiles and pats Jared’s cheek. “Good boy.”

He nearly bites his tongue off in pain as he hobbles along with each of the guys trying to keep his balance. No matter how badly he leans to one side or the other, they do their job and keep moving back to camp.

Jared is equally excited and mortified when he spots the rest of the group on the front steps and suddenly a lone figure breaks apart to come running at them.

As Jensen’s shape forms more clearly, he’s yelling at Andy to get supplies together in the living room, and Andy’s running off to their house.

“You dumb asshole,” Jensen grumbles as he takes Boots place at Jared’s left.

Once they’re settled on Jensen’s living room couch, Jensen says it again with his eyes focused on unwrapping the bloody bandages on his leg.

“Was doing pretty good,” Jared replies. “Until a branch attacked me.”

“This wasn’t a walker?”

“No. Almost wished it was, though. Burns like hell."

Jensen laugh shakily as his fingers tense in the bloody denim surrounding the wound. “Good thing it’s not. I was gonna cut off your leg.”

“Are you serious?”

“If I had to!”

Andy comes in with fresh linens and Jensen directs him to solidly press them against Jared’s leg. Misha’s cutting the jeans off above the knee—ignoring Jared’s delirious complaints about his only pair—and Boots sets a hand towel in Jared’s mouth, also ignoring Jared’s protests there.

Then Jensen’s cool hands wrap around the fire-hot skin of Jared’s shoulder. “On the count of three,” he says with a nod at Boots, who now holds Jared down at the chest. It’s all too quick for Jared to stop, and when Jensen gets to two, they’re each shoving to force a pop in Jared’s shoulder.

Jared screams through the towel, flinches at the collective gasp of the rest of the group hovering nearby, then feels a warm sense of relief soak through his bones once his shoulder’s set back in place.

He’s barely got his breath back when Jensen’s checking his leg and washing it out with alcohol, bringing another round of screams and cursing, and flinging the washcloth across the room. Panting through the pain, Jared glances at Andy. “Dude, you should probably not be here for this.”

Jensen quickly turns to his son. “Andy, go on and get the sewing kit and some damp towels.” He looks at the rest of the group hovering in the tiny living room and shoos them off. “He’ll be fine. He just needs some space now.”

“Thank you, Lord, yes,” Jared sighs, dropping his head back on the arm of the couch. Once the room’s cleared, he stares at the top of Jensen’s head as its bowed to inspect Jared’s leg. “And thank you, for not killing me.”

A brief glance up and Jensen is surprised, then back to concerned and focused on Jared’s wound. “Why would I kill you?”

“For coming back. After what you said …”

Now Jensen stares back for a few seconds. “How stupid are you?”

Jared swallows and breathes deep, going dizzy in instants. “I dunno. I lost a lotta blood.”

Suddenly, just as suddenly as that night on the garage and under the stars, Jensen’s got a hand clamped at the back of Jared’s head and his lips tightly slotted to Jared’s. He pulls back almost as fast as he’d gotten there, then sighs harshly. “Don’t you ever die, you got it?”

“I can’t promise you—”

“Just _don’t_.”

“Okay,” Jared whispers.

They keep eye contact even as Andy returns, setting the sewing kit to the floor next to Jensen then coming round to set a cool, damp washcloth to Jared’s forehead.

“I got extra thread from the attic,” Andy says. “The leg looks pretty bad.”

Jared pats Andy’s shoulder. “If it’s as bad as I think, you probably should run.”

“Dad’ll need a hand.”

He eyes Jensen threading a needle with black thread trailing down to the floor and holds his breath. “I think your dad also needs some medical training.”

“He’s CPR certified.”

“That sounds like enough,” Jared says lightly, now staring at Jensen, who seems slightly embarrassed.

“I’ve watched a lot of medical shows.”

“Oh, yeah, Grey’s Anatomy is totally a ‘How to’.”

Jensen rolls his eyes as he sets the needle at the base of the wound, not going in just yet. “Not like that,” he defends hotly. “I could leave it open? Or you want Boots coming in with his stubby fingers?”

Suddenly his stomach twists and his mouth waters, nausea overtaking him. “No, but I could probably use him to knock me out first.”

“Baby,” Andy and Jensen mumble together.

 

**

 

Over the next few days, he sleeps on and off, which isn’t surprising. What is, is that he does so in Jensen’s bed in the back of the small mother-in-law ranch while Andy takes the couch. It’s a huge step-up from the lumpy couch pulled into Williams’ room, where the old man snores worse than a buzzsaw.

He sleeps hard like the ground thanks to Misha’s large stash of recreational drugs cum painkillers, and wakes when Jensen or Andy change the dressing, when Miss Loretta or Gabe bring him food and drink, and especially when Jensen comes to bed at night.

The first night, Jensen eases the awkwardness by checking the cut and subsequent bump on Jared’s head. It’d been last in the long list of fixes, something Jensen insisted would be more cosmetic than dangerous.

The second, he asks Jared where he’d been when it happened and patiently listens to Jared’s tired, compact story of a random trip and fall.

The third, he asks what Jared would’ve done without the flaregun.

The fourth, he wonders what happened to Jared’s gun.

He explains that they’d been through his sack to sort the supplies and clean it up from the long week Jared was gone.

Jared finally has enough sense of mind to answer without mumbling most of his words.

“I dropped it.”

“When you fell?”

Jared’s flat on the mattress and, for the first time, feels fully dwarfed by Jensen sitting up in bed with his back against the dusty, weathered headboard. It takes a few moments to drum up the words so they’re honest but not alarming. “No. I was using it, and I let it go.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t walkers.”

“It wasn’t.” He swallows and wishes for water, which Jensen seems to read as he suddenly has a glass in hand to hold to Jared’s lips for small sips. It doesn’t help his dry throat, and he admits, “I didn’t want to become one.”

“Jared,” Jensen whispers, eyebrows coming in tight, creasing his forehead. “Did you really think you would?”

“Look at me,” he insists. “How could I not?”

“But you didn’t do it. Why?”

Jared can’t say the words, even when they’re so heavy on his mind and heart. He only stares back and hopes Jensen can see the flicker of his eyebrow and the small, nervous smile in the soft lamp on the bedside table behind Jensen.

It must be clear enough because Jensen slowly leans down to Jared and kisses him. It’s the third time, but so much more than before. This time, Jared responds, tipping his head up, moving his lips around Jensen’s, and willingly accepting Jensen’s tongue into his mouth. He slips his tongue around it while lifting his good hand up to Jensen’s cheek, just to touch and keep him close.

In due time, the kiss becomes more insistent and Jensen moves in closer. Jared would happily push more, but there’s a trigger of pain in his shoulder and he pulls back with a sigh. “I don’t think I can do this. Not now.”

“That’s okay,” Jensen murmurs before kissing him again, long, deep, and slow.

 

**

 

Andy starts bringing him breakfast. He smiles and laughs and tells Jared everything he’s missing up at the main house. It mostly involves Miss Loretta flicking Misha with her towel whenever he slips in innuendos or smacking Boots in the back of the head when he curses. There are a few tales of Jensen and Gabe getting into a mess of dirt in the garden, and Williams getting stuck in a particularly soft and deep hole caused by recent rain.

“Your pops has to be happy for the rain.”

“He’s digging out in the garden all day,” Andy replies, slightly distracted by his own bowl of oatmeal. “When he’s not here.”

Andy also asks all sorts of questions, as if he knows Jared’s got nowhere to go.

“What was your favorite team?”

“The Cowboys.”

“Dad always yelled at them.”

Jared smiles, both at the image and at Andy. “Yeah? Me, too.”

“He said Romo was a useless shit.”

Now Jared chuckles, pointing at him. “I don’t think you should be saying that.”

Andy isn’t shamed by Jared’s words, only insistent in asking, “But it’s true, right?”

“Way true.”

“Did you ever play?” Andy asks, refusing to pause for Jared’s staggering breath.

“No, but I liked basketball.”

“Did you like the Spurs?”

“I did,” Jared replies with a small nod.

“Dad thinks they’re useless shits, too.”

“Andrew Daniel!” Jensen shouts, coming through the house and into the bedroom. “Would you quit saying that? And leave Jared alone while he rests.”

“He’s fine,” Jared insists. He scoots up a bit more on the bed, granting Jensen space to sit at the end of the bed. “Except for him letting on that you’re a Mavericks fan.”

“We can’t all be perfect, can we?”

They share a smile as Andy stretches out on his side of the bed and continues asking them about baseball, football, basketball, hockey, anything that keeps them all talking.

 

**

 

One morning, Andy drops off lukewarm oatmeal then runs back to the main house in favor of drawing lessons with Williams. With more lit hours to the summer days, the man has agreed to teach everyone in the hour following breakfast.

“I didn’t know he could draw,” Jared says in between spoonfuls of lightly sugared cement.

Jensen’s opening the drapes and blinds in the bedroom, the light nearly blinding Jared as he attempts to finish breakfast. With spots in his eyes, the bright sun immediately ramps up Jared’s morning grogginess, almost makes the undercurrent of itchiness and pain in his shin more obvious.

“His uncle or cousin was a cartoonist, and he was a colorist? Something like that.”

“The things you learn,” Jared muses, making Jensen smile, which lately helps Jared to as well. This morning isn’t one of those times.

“Speaking of …”

“Learning? I’m not doing any of that anymore. Passed school with flying colors once upon a time.”

Jensen sits in the open area of the bed and narrows his eyes. “You’re a little spunky today.” He doesn’t wait for Jared’s impending sarcasm, and simply asks, “What did you do?”

Jared stares back at him. “I didn’t do anything?”

“No, like a job, for a living? You’ve never told me … or anyone, really. All we know is you’re a loner who’s stubborn as shit with terrible balance.”

The oatmeal mostly gone, Jared sets the bowl to the table beside him then aims as innocent a look at Jensen as possible. “So you wouldn’t believe I was a gymnast?”

“Never even made the list,” Jensen says dryly.

“That’s a shame.” Jared reaches beneath the blankets to pat his hand over the dressing instead of scratching, then winces when even that hurts. “Think you can take a look at this? It’s a pain again.”

“Changing the subject, I see.” Jensen pulls the blankets away, carefully undoes the bandage, and lightly presses against the pink, puffy skin at the main knot of the stitches. “Probably an infection.”

“Great,” Jared huffs, a bit of fear rising up.

Jensen shrugs and glances up at him. “We can drain it and see how it does from there?”

“Like that’ll be enough.”

Jensen watches Jared closely. “Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright,” he complains. His voice gets tighter the more he talks. “I’ve got a damned infection now. I’ve survived four years in the zombie apocalypse, a dislocated shoulder, concussions, and a torn leg, but I’m gonna die from an infection? It’s fucking bullshit.”

Jensen rolls his eyes and tests the bottom end of the sewing, which also makes Jared flinch. “You’re worse than Andy with a paper cut.”

“Paper cuts aren’t a joke,” he pushes. “You could totally bleed out without Band-Aids, which we don’t have after my accident. Then when you get an infection, you go into septic shock and die.”

“Were you a doctor?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Jared answers swiftly, almost irritably. “My brother was, and he still died like that.”

Jensen finds Jared’s eyes and frowns. “When?”

He hadn’t meant to let all that out, but it’s getting easier and easier to talk around Jensen. “About a year in.”

Sitting back on the mattress, Jensen furrows his brow. “I didn’t even know you had a brother.”

“Yeah, well,” he sighs. “When would that come up?”

Jensen shrugs. “Anytime?”

“Kind of like your wife?” Jared spits out. On Jensen’s instant flinch, Jared wants to suck the words right back. “I’m sorry, that was … harsh.”

“To say the least.” Jensen rewraps Jared’s bandage then gets off the bed in record time. “She died just after the first attacks,” he says quietly, staring out the windows and likely searching for the house, for Andy. “She was a grade school teacher and ran out once the kids were safe, probably looking for us. We found her too late, and a year later we found Miss Loretta’s place.” He suddenly pins Jared with a tense look. “Now how ‘bout you?”

He swallows and starts playing with fraying stitches in the dingy blanket. His eyes glaze over as he thinks back on the last four years and even further, which is fuzzier than ever after being safe these last few weeks.

Just as Jensen’s leaving the room with his head down, Jared speaks.

“I was an IT junkie. I sat in front of computers day and night, just to avoid getting hurt by people. I hated dealing with people, and then everything happened and that’s all I was faced with.”

Jensen turns in the doorway, leans against the frame, and patiently waits for Jared to let more out.

“Jeff and I were the only ones in San Antonio at the time. Sister was off at college, parents on vacation. We went off together, but he was a damned savior anyway and contracted something from someone along the way.”

He’d always known in the back of his head it was the main reason he avoided staying in one place, making connections, and offering help. Now it’s screaming at him, tearing at his insides, and his eyes burn with angry tears.

“He was just trying to keep people from dying and he did instead.” Jared blows out a rough sigh. “And I almost died running away from all that.”

“But you came back, too,” Jensen says with a soft, caring smile.

Jared doesn’t have a response to that and is thankful when Andy comes pounding into the house to look for more paper.

 

**

 

None too soon, Jared gets to his feet with a crutch Gabe cobbled together, and joins dinner. With him on the disabled list, they’re back to non-perishables, but they’re all happy he’s up and mobile as they fuss over him. Miss Loretta goes so far as cutting up his SPAM.

“It’s not even real meat,” Jared argues playfully, “I’m sure I can manage to chew it."

She swats his hair on her way back to her chair. “Can’t take any gratitude in anything, can you?”

Jared’s bringing his fork up to his mouth when Andy clears his throat, shifting in his seat beside Jared. “Dad, can I say grace?”

“You always do,” Jensen says with a smile.

“No, out loud. So everyone hears it.”

Jensen nervously glances down the table. As far as Jared’s seen, Misha, Boots, and Gabe have never been fans of God and have often acknowledged life after The Turn as Hell on Earth. Still, the group allows it, and Jared bows his head out of respect to the confident voice coming out of the young boy next to him.

“Thank you, Lord, for the continued food, no matter how good or bad things get. Thank you for having a home for all of us to share. And thank you for keeping us all together and alive. Most of all for bringing Jared back to us.”

Jared stares at his plate, can’t breathe or even mumble the requisite _Amen_.

For too many days to count, Jared’s woken up to Andy bringing him breakfast, Miss Loretta or Williams handing over lunch, and Jensen finishing the day with dinner and staying until they’ve both fallen asleep. Some evenings he’s well enough to kiss the heck out of Jensen and reach out for more, but never able to do anything without pain stopping them. Other times he’s too tired or sore for even pleasantries and takes enough drugs to get back to sleep. That’s when he dreams about recovering and hitting the road again.

None of this fits together—not Jared’s dreams and this place Andy calls home, and definitely not his instinct to run and the internal pull to stay put for a man with a son, a man who lost a wife and is probably just seeking out _home_ again for him and Andy.

“You okay?” Andy asks with an elbow to Jared’s side.

He remains quiet and it’s Jensen who quietly answers, “He’s probably tired from walking up here. Eat your beans.”

Jared picks his head up, finds the whole table watching him. “I’m actually not that hungry,” he mumbles, putting his fork back to the plate.

“It’s the SPAM, isn’t it?” Gabe jokes. “Gelled meat is no one’s dream meal, even in the apocalypse.”

He fakes a smile, knows it’s weak and poorly placed, and fumbles up to his feet. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m just gonna …”

Jensen rises as well and Jared shoots him a puzzled look. “I’ll help you back to the house.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just go to my couch.”

He’d thought his statement was innocent enough, but Jensen flinches at the tail end of it. Slowly, Jensen sits down again and gets right to cutting his SPAM and green beans.

Back in Williams's room, Jared can still hear the silverware clink against the dishes and murmurs of conversation. He even makes out Andy asking, “Is Jared staying here again?”

Also hears the tightness to Jensen replying, “I don’t know, Andrew.”

 _Andrew_ … always Jensen’s warning to Andy to stop whatever he’s going after, and now Jared’s got a heavy weight on his chest.

 

**

 

For the sake of preserving energy, Jared stays on the couch for a few days. He makes every meal in the dining room and offers as many smiles and pleased hellos as he can, but it’s obvious that Jensen and Andy are far from being themselves whenever Jared joins the group.

He starts planning to leave, for good this time. Then curses his leg every time he gets off the couch.

 

**

 

With the sun in the sky later in the evening, everyone heads outside after dinner to take advantage of the light and warmer weather. Everyone except Jensen, who’s in the kitchen cleaning up after pork and beans that Williams had heated up in the stove.

Jared lurches in with his crutch, clearly making enough noise to get anyone’s attention, yet Jensen remains staring out the window as his hands work through the easy regimen of washing, rinsing, and placing dishes on the counter.

With a rough swallow, Jared works on what he wants to say. All he gets out is: “I should’ve stayed gone, huh?” Jensen looks over his shoulder, eyes dim, and Jared shrugs in return. “Right? That’s what you told me, standing right here.”

“We were tired of you leaving without a word.”

“Everyone got along fine before I came here. What’s the difference if I leave?”

“Maybe there’s no difference to them,” Jensen says, pointing at the window, sounding a bit angry. “But there is to me and Andy.”

Jared knows that, has known it for weeks, but hates thinking that’s his only place here. There’s always been more on his plate. “I’m no use to anyone now. Can’t hunt or cook or clean.”

Quietly, Jensen asks, “You think that’s all you are here?”

He fusses with his crutch and steps to the side for better balance. “There’s no point in me still being here. I can hardly get around from room to room, can’t even pull weeds in your garden, can’t be with you.” He huffs and adds, “I can barely stand right here.”

“Then why are you?” A smile small appears on Jensen’s face, strangely comforting even when Jared was set on being petulant and stubborn. “Why’re you still standing?”

“Because it’s the only thing I _can_ do!”

Jared’s fingers clench into the palms of his hands and his eyes burn with impending tears. For four years now, he’s used hunting and runs as the only means of stress relief and purpose in this ugly world. Now he’s been stripped of all possible skills, denied access to so many of the things he was a part of before. The guys head out on runs, fix up the garden, rebuild the outer fence, hunt with little success, all while Jared has been stuck in bed. There’ve been close calls and accidents, none as serious as Jared’s, but enough to shake up the group. He knows it’s not his fault, yet he feels it all the same.

“It’s not the only thing,” Jensen insists. He comes closer with hands carefully set on Jared’s hips, steadying him while calming him, too. “You can relax and let us help you. You’ve helped us enough since you’ve been here.”

All of Jared’s anger dies down and he’s tired and weak. Probably from all the standing and hobbling around before and after dinner, or maybe just from maintaining this closed-off, bitter persona.

Jared drops his head down, rests his forehead to Jensen’s, and closes his eyes. “I don’t want to be anyone’s burden.”

“You aren’t.”

“Feels like it.”

“Your feelings are wrong.”

Jared sighs and shifts in place, then winces when there’s a flare of pain in his shin. Even Jensen had admitted a week after the incident that it wasn’t a great tie, but there’d been no one else and it would do in their world.

In a quick flash, Jared imagines meeting Jensen way back when, and is reminded of a happy family with the white picket fence. He also thinks of his own life of 12-hour days in front of the computer, programming language scrolling past his eyes far more than his own life actually did.

Their world, now, has no real rules. There are the things they can’t have that were creature comforts just a few years ago, but Jared knows there’s a different kind of offering here that wasn’t possible back where he’d been.

Taking what is in front of him, he sets his arms over Jensen’s shoulders, fingers sliding into the back of Jensen’s hair. He tips Jensen’s head up so he can take it in a languid kiss that turns heated quite fast, especially considering they’re in the kitchen with the rest of the crew just outside. Without the crutch, Jared leans heavily into Jensen, who easily accepts the weight and presses back, pulls in, holds tight. It goes on for ages, it seems, until there’s the ruckus of Andy running up the back stairs with the rest of the group heading in as well.

They each side eye Jared and Jensen, but no one says a word when Jensen and Andy help Jared to the other house.

And Andy doesn’t blink when Jensen asks him to head back up to the house and finish the dishes that had been aborted, even mentions that Miss Loretta could use a hand with folding laundry.

Jared does stall the moment it’s just him and Jensen again. In the bedroom. Where Jared’s stuck on the bed and Jensen’s standing at the foot of it, especially when Jensen turns to him with eyes locked in and his chest rising and falling with tense breathing.

“Don’t freak out,” Jensen starts and Jared laughs tightly.

“A little late for that.”

Now Jensen frowns and glances everywhere but at Jared’s face, even as he nears him. His cheeks go pink and his sight barely lifts high enough to look Jared in the eye. “I’m not an expert at this or anything.”

Jared’s mouth goes dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth when he tries to swallow. He knows, is about 99.9 percent sure what it is, but still asks, “At what?”

Jensen makes a face, one that screams for Jared to get a grasp on the force between them, one that is strangely attractive. As if Jensen could get even more so.

“You were married,” Jared jokes to lighten the moment, “to a woman, I can’t expect magic.”

“She’s not the only person I’ve been with. I’m not going in blind.”

Jared’s all too glad to hear _person_ instead of _woman_. There’s great relief in his chest and he finally breathes normally and manages a meaningful smile. “Good, so you won’t hurt me.”

“I hope not,” Jensen replies with a smile. He finally climbs onto his side of the bed, crawls up to Jared, kisses him, and immediately presses his palm over Jared’s crotch. Jared nearly squeaks at the instant pressure of Jensen’s hand rubbing him, and Jensen pulls back, their lips smacking in the quiet room. “ _Am_ I hurting you?”

“No, no, I swear.” Jared brings Jensen’s hand back over his dick and presses down over it with just the right pressure and the perfect rhythm. “Just been a while,” he breathes out.

With a light smile, Jensen leans in and touches their mouths together, talks right at Jared’s lips. “Me, too. So I don’t mind a little instruction.”

Thinking of telling Jensen exactly what he wants, even if not physically possible in this moment, lights a fire in Jared’s belly. It ignites every nerve ending then zeroes in on their hands both groping through denim. He surges up to take Jensen’s mouth, presses his tongue deep inside, and tilts Jensen’s head the right way with his free hand tight around the back of Jensen’s head.

It really has been a long time, far too long to realistically recall, and he knows that there’s added weight to it being with Jensen. After all the push and pull, and Jared’s own ego not letting him stand still for long enough to see what’s in front of him until he was bedridden and forced to rely on everyone around him, he finally sees what’s right in front of him.

A chance.

A chance to be a part of other lives, to create memories, to be part of a home, and to maybe be himself again.

Through all this, his kisses become slow, almost non-existent, and Jensen pulls back as he senses that.

“Everything okay?”

He slides his hand down the back of Jensen’s neck and squeezes on the way up. “Yeah, definitely.”

Jensen sets a small kiss on Jared’s mouth, smiles, and runs his hand over Jared’s dick to start the rhythm again.

Jared is certain he’ll be done in a minute, and quickly pulls his jeans open, his underwear down, and brings his dick out for Jensen to touch. Which he does, instantly wrapping his hand around Jared’s dick and stroking steadily. Jared’s skin flares with the warm, sure hold of Jensen’s grip, and he has to break off the kiss. With his head pressed against Jensen’s, he pants through high, whiny moans, and finally feels it all break within. He digs his nails into Jensen’s shoulder, bites his lower lip, and comes over Jensen’s hand, all while still remaining as still as possible to avoid disrupting his leg.

Once he gets his senses back, he sees the solid bulge in Jensen’s jeans and reaches for it. His large hand covers Jensen’s groin and squeezes, drawing a moan out of Jensen’s tightly closed mouth. “You gonna let me return the favor?” Jared murmurs.

“Of course.” Jensen slides his pants down and before he gets much further, Jared pulls on his wrist.

“Come over here,” he insists, tugging Jensen over to straddle his waist. For once Jensen is higher than Jared, just a few inches, but enough to overwhelm Jared with all of him. He leans up to kiss Jensen while slipping his hand up Jensen’s chest and his other hand goes down to fist Jensen’s hard dick. It’s wide and long as a steady weight in Jared’s grasp, and warmer than Jensen’s always comfortingly warm body.

Jensen rocks into Jared’s hand and sets his arms over Jared’s shoulders. His fingers play with the edges of Jared’s hair then tightly twine around the strands when Jared quickens his fist. Their mouths are messy as Jensen is spun around and pulled undone while Jared’s strokes are fast and sure, finally bringing Jensen off.

They stay in their positions for far longer than they should, slowly kissing and exploring one another’s mouths. Both legs go numb, having fallen asleep, and Jared's lips are going raw, but he doesn’t want to let go of Jensen.

 

*

 

Jared’s eyelid is peeled away from his eye, letting the bright sun in. He cringes and bats at the little hands trying to hold his eyes open.

“What are you doing?” he groans with a sleep-rough voice.

“Dad said to see if you were awake yet.” Andy leans in, large green eyes mammoth this close. “Are you awake yet?”

“No.”

“I think you’re lying.” Louder, Andy yells towards the rest of the house, “I think he’s lying!”

“Andrew Daniel Ackles!” comes Jensen’s semi-amused voice from beyond the wall.

Jared takes Andy’s hands away and slowly sits up. He shuts his eyes against the dull ache in his shoulder. It’s likely to rain; his shoulder’s become a reliable forecaster, but Jensen will be happy to hear the garden will get some life. “All three names, dude. You’re in trouble.”

“Andrew,” Jensen calls again, closer, and more firm. He playfully swats Andy as he nudges him out of the bedroom. “Go on up for breakfast.”

“What about you guys?”

Jared’s about to explain he intends to drug his shoulder when Jensen offers, “We’ll be up in a minute. Go on now.”

Once alone, Jensen sits at the edge of the bed, bumping their hips together and setting a cool rag on Jared’s shoulder. “You were tossing and turning all night.”

“One of these days I’ll be whole again.” Jared sighs, leans back against the headboard, and shuts his eyes. This world doesn’t have ice, but it has Jensen’s firm hand with a damp rag, and it’s the best Jared can get first thing in the morning. “Then what’ll you do with yourself?” he jokes, peeking one eye open.

Jensen bites his lower lip to hide a smile. “Kick you outta bed so I can sleep?”

Jared smirks and uses his good hand to tug at the edge of Jensen’s shirt. “Like you could.”

“Yeah, maybe not,” he mumbles just before moving in to kiss.

Immediately, Jared brings his arm around Jensen’s back to keep him close in the lazy kiss. There’s no rush here, and yet Jared has no intentions to waste time. He just wants to stay in bed and kiss the daylights out of Jensen, and he does his best to fulfill that deep want. They’ve done just this for long hours before, in all those nights when Jared’s mobility was next to nil. But this is after … after Jared’s mind turned over and told him what’s right for him is again a possibility.

And now The Turn is completely altered. It’s no longer the end of life, but the beginning of a new one. One Jared actually looks forward to waking up in.

Before their mouths are bitten red, Jared pulls back and smacks his lips together. "Now, I think someone said something about breakfast?"

"You up for a walk?"

"You gonna catch me if I fall?"

Jensen easily smiles. "Of course."

Once outside, Jared smiles at the sight of Andy and Boots tossing a football back and forth. Memories from long ago flood him, but he pushes them back for new ones. 

“Hey, Andy!” he calls out, stepping away from Jensen to stand on his own. “Let’s see your spiral!”

It’s wobbly and slow, but it makes the distance to Jared’s long reach. Jared learns that he can move a bit easier than he thought, and that Andy has a stronger arm than a kid his age probably should. 

Most of all, he learns that an afternoon of catch with Jensen, Andy, and even Boots is a better prescription than bedrest, so he stays out here all afternoon.


End file.
